Dog Collar Couture (5 page)

She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes. He smelled like freshly chopped firewood, that same scent she'd known since she was a child crawling into his lap at family parties or to watch television or tell him about her day. That precious time when she was still his little girl. The time before she'd been old enough to understand his life.

“Dad, I know what you wanted and that you love Frankie. I love him, too. I always will. But we can't make it work. We've tried too hard and too long. It's not fair to either one of us. I'm sorry.”

A small sob clawed from her throat, and she breathed in again, focused on her father's scent, took comfort in it and squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the tears to dry up as Dad began patting her back.

“Ssshhh, baby girl. Don't cry. It's all right.”

And this, this was what she'd missed all these years. The man who used to hug her—fiercely—and tell her he'd fix it. Whatever it was, he always fixed it. At least until she'd gotten old enough to understand that the one really important thing he needed to straighten out, his lifestyle, he had no desire to change.

After that, their relationship had crumbled, a piece at a time, until she simply couldn't communicate with him.

She backed away, gripped his arms. “Please. I may not always agree with you, but I love you. You need to let me live my life. And right now, if I haven't completely blown it, Tim O'Brien is part of my life.”

“How long?”

“Since August. I wanted to introduce you to him, but I was afraid of how you'd react. There's the whole cop thing. And the lack of a vowel at the end of his last name.”

Dad laughed. Laughed? Really?

“Lucie, is he good to you?”

“Very.”

“He's respectful?”

“Always.”

He shrugged. “That's what I care about. Sure, Frankie would have made a great husband, and it didn't hurt that he was Italian. But if a man treats my daughter well, and she likes him, I'll give him a chance. If he screws up, there's gonna be trouble.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my father?”

He waved both hands at her. “Bah!”

Lucie smiled and smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for understanding. And watching out for me. This time, though, I think I'm the one who screwed up.”

G
etting rid
of her father had never been an easy task. Getting rid of him after she'd been questioned by detectives and admitted she'd been dating one of them proved to be darned near impossible.

Lucie sat at her desk watching her father wander around the shop, pick up fabric samples, study the sketches fastened to the wall near Ro's desk and stare down the commercial-grade sewing machine they'd purchased for Mom.

Since Dad's return from prison, he hadn't been a fan of his stay-at-home wife being a working woman. He wanted her home when he got there, whenever that might be, cooking his meals, making his bed, doing his laundry.

Guess what, Dad?

Things had changed.

And Lucie loved it.

When the stare-down dragged on, Lucie wandered over to him and set a hand on his shoulder. “Dad, I have a ton of work.”

Gently, she guided him to the door.

“You're kicking me out?”

That sounded rather harsh, but the Rizzo clan had never pulled its punches. “Well, yes. It's my admin day, and with the visit from the detectives, I'm already forty-five minutes behind. And you know as soon as Ro comes storming in here, it'll only get worse.”

Because Ro, as much as Lucie adored her, created drama. She couldn't help it. Some days it seemed as if tiny drama gremlins marched into the store behind her. An army of drama.

But Dad laughed. “That girl. She's a pip.”

“Yeah. And pairing her with Joey?”

Dad waved a hand. “Forget about it. It'll never be dull.”

Two more steps toward the door.
Come on, big guy.

“All right, all right. I'm goin'. You call if you need anything, though. I'm right down at Petey's.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Trying not to be too pushy, Lucie swung the door open and restrained herself from waving him out. A girl could only go so far when attempting not to insult her father.

“Good morning,” Ro sang as she strutted her stuff from the opposite direction as Dad.

As usual, her BFF was dressed to kill in a tight skirt, an animal-print blouse that barely contained her pushed-up boobs and high heels that elevated her to a minimum of six feet tall. On her shoulder she carried a giant tote bag and a briefcase. God only knew what she had in there.

“Hi.”

Ro cruised through the doorway and whipped off her sunglasses. “I see you had a visitor. Again.”

“Breakfast at Petey's this time.”

“You know you're going to have to give in eventually. He comes down here every day wanting you to eat with him. Suck it up, Sister. Make your dad happy. Just maybe, if you do, he'll leave you alone.”

Hardly. “I don't think that'll happen. Not after the two detectives just left.”

“Stop it.”

“Our grand plan not to tell Tim about me being at the scene of that robbery failed. Epically.”

Ro dumped her briefcase and tote on her desk, and her mouth plummeted. “I don't understand. How?”

“Because my luck stinks. And, well, my detective boyfriend got pulled into the case.”

“Stop.
It!
”

“Yep. And my father is no dummy.”

“Ohmygod.”

“I had to tell him.”

“About you and O'Hottie?
No.
”

The thing about Ro was, even with the drama, in desperate times, she made Lucie laugh. The relief valve. Right now was no exception.

Her BFF stood in front of her, hands on hips, eyes popping, her lips curled almost to a sneer. She looked like something out of a comic book. Lucie unleashed a good solid snort of laughter.

“What's funny?”

“I just . . . love you. You help me even when you don't know it.”

She paddled her hands, jangling the bangle bracelets stacked on her wrist. “Blah, blah. I'd do anything for you. But what did your dad say about Tim? Poor Joey has been losing sleep worrying about this day.”

Joey? How the heck did this become about him? “He has?”

“Sure. He kinda likes Tim. And he's afraid he'll have to kick the crap out of him. It's a burden, Luce.”

“He thought . . .” Lucie shook her head. Really, she didn't want to go wherever her mind was about to take her. “Never mind. My family is so twisted.”

“Amen to that.”

“I think it'll be okay. My dad was surprisingly calm about it. He said as long as Tim treated me well, he didn't have an issue.”

“Huh.”

“I know, right? Maybe prison actually reformed him.”

“Honey, I wouldn't go that far. But, hey, this is a start. Now you don't have to hide him anymore.”

No more hiding. The thing she'd just moaned to Tim about last night. No more. It was out there, now.

Only Tim might hate her for keeping her potential-witness status from him.

“Assuming he's still talking to me. Because, let me just say, it was awfully frigid in this room thirty minutes ago.”

Ro snapped her fingers. “Only you would have a cop boyfriend that lands a case you're involved in.”

“I'm not involved. I was there, but I'm not involved!”

“You and I know that, but, honey, this is the third time that poor guy has seen you wind up in a jackpot. How much can he take?”

Assuming it was a rhetorical question, Lucie didn't answer.

Ro jumped on the task of making coffee, and Lucie grabbed her cell, heading to the back door of the shop. At least in the alley, she might have privacy. If she went out front and one of the guys from Petey's saw her, they'd all wander down to pepper her with questions about the detectives. That mess would take her an hour to break up.

Who had that kind of time?

In the alley all she had to deal with was the stench of garbage. Maybe a rat or two.

Preferable any day.

Two rings in, Tim answered.

“O'Brien.”

Typically he answered with, “Hey, pretty lady,” or if he was in the middle of something he'd say, “Luce, can I call you back?”

Either way, whenever she called he always knew exactly who it was. Today?
Today
he answered with a completely impersonal, forget-about-dating-this-woman greeting.

“It's me. Lucie.”

“Luce, I can't talk now. I'm sorry.”

“Okay. But I'm sorry. About this morning. If it was awkward.”

He laughed, but the caustic nature sent Lucie's shoulders flying back.

“Awkward,” he said. “Even for you, that was nuts.”

Um . . . ow. What could she even say? “I'm—”

“When did you know about the robbery?”

Sticky territory. Being a girl who valued honesty, she wouldn't lie to him. Absolutely couldn't. For a man in law enforcement, he'd stood by her when most cops would have bailed.

“I had a plan.”

“Dammit, Lucie. We said full disclosure.”

“Please. I wanted to tell you last night. I did. I saw it on the news and realized I'd been in the area. I feel like I get in the middle of something illegal, and it's never my fault, and I worry that you won't believe that. Or that you'll lose your job because of who I am.”

“Lucie—”

“I wasn't going to tell you I was there. I thought it would be better if you didn't know. But then, when I saw you last night, I couldn't hold it back. That's what I wanted to tell you when you got called in. But I couldn't dump it on you when you had to focus on your job.”

“And what? You just weren't going to tell me?”

“No. What I said is true. I planned on calling you first thing this morning. As soon as I got here. Because God knows there's no privacy at my house. But it was too late.” She stopped talking for a minute, set one hand on her head and squeezed her eyes closed. “I intended to tell you. Please, believe that.”

A horn blast sounded from Tim's end, and he let out a stream of swearing that might have melted her ears. “Get the hell out of the way,” he shouted.

Wowie-wow-wow.
Mad Tim. Really mad, Tim.

“Crazy friggin' drivers.”

Look who's talking.
She'd driven with him
plenty
of times. Just short of a madman behind the wheel.

Now was certainly not the time to joke about that. “Are you mad at me?”

“You bet your life I am. Doesn't mean I'm not still nuts about you. I get it. I took off in a hurry last night. I knew you had something on your mind, and I was gonna call you; but I got busy, and then it was too late.”

How pathetic would she be if she asked if he'd dump her? With all the things that could possibly go wrong in this scenario, she was worried about the cutie detective breaking up with her?
Grow up, Luce.

“Tim?”

“Luce, you're thinking too much. I can feel it. Take a breath. I'm a cop, and my girlfriend is a potential witness in a case I'm working. I gotta get with my lieutenant. Explain it to him, and get taken off this thing.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I know. I'll call you later. Please, for God's sake, lay low for the rest of the day.”

“
I
ncoming
,” Ro said.

Lucie peeled her eyes from the spreadsheet she'd been scouring for a formula error and found her father opening the shop's door.

Not again.

Third time this morning. Technically, it was afternoon, though.

Dad stopped in the doorway, and the streaming sunshine formed a weird halo around him. Dad and a halo. There's a combo she thought she'd never see. He tapped his watch. “Lunchtime. I'm buying.”

“Dad—”

“You know,” Ro said, shooting out of her chair, “I could eat. Come on, Lucie. Let's get some lunch.”

“But I'm in the middle . . .”

Halfway to the door, Ro spun on that crazy high heel and gritted her teeth. “Now look, we're
all
busy around here, and your father wants to buy us lunch. So, we're going to let him do that, and then we can come back here and finish what we're doing.
Undisturbed.
” She faced Dad. “Isn't that right, Mr. R.? As soon as Lucie and I come down to Petey's for lunch, you'll let us get on with our work. Right?”

And, yowzer. Ro had just laid down the law in spectacular fashion. Lucie couldn't help clenching her butt cheeks, anticipating her father's reaction to being reprimanded. Well, reprimanded in a backhanded sort of way.

“Sure,” he said. “I mean, you girls have been at it all morning. You need to eat. You come to Petey's, have a sandwich and then come back to work. I got some stuff to do this afternoon, anyway.”

That tore it. With Dad out doing whatever the heck he did during his working hours—she really didn't want to know—Lucie would have an entire afternoon of peace. All she'd have to do is suck-up the next forty-five minutes and go into the dreaded Petey's for a sandwich.

With Dad.

And crew.

The possibility did exist that she'd run into Frankie's father, but she was a desperate woman who needed to get her own father the heck out of her hair.

She bolted up, grabbed her keys and followed Ro to the door.

Once outside, Ro plucked the keys from Lucie and locked up. “Lunch at Petey's,” she muttered. “I need a picture of this.”

The three of them marched into Petey's, and the aroma of baking bread and cooking meat brought Lucie's taste buds alive. Her dislike of Petey's had nothing to do with the food. Exceptional food actually. Her dislike stemmed from the illegal activity Petey allowed to happen there.

Lucie waved at a few locals seated at a corner table. With only a handful of available seating, Dad's crew of Jimmy Two-Toes, Slip and Lemon sat at two pushed-together tables along the wall.

All of them with their backs to the wall so they could see both the front entrance and the hallway leading to the rear door. Mob guys, like cops, always sat with their backs to the wall. You know, just in case someone tried to kill them.

God help her.

The one apparent upshot? Frankie's father was absent.

Thank you very much.

“Ho!” Jimmy Two-Toes yelled. “Lucie! How you doin'? Petey! Make Lucie a sandwich. Come here. Take my seat. Whaddya want? A pop? Tea? What?”

“Jesus, Jimmy,” Lemon said, “Give her a minute. You're all over her.”

“What? I'm being nice? I can't be nice? She never comes in.”

Oh, boy.

“Helloooo, fellas.” Ro offered up a little finger wave.

“Ho!” Jimmy yelled again. “A twofer.”

Dear. God.

Dad waved Jimmy back to his chair. “Take it easy. We'll sit in the back so I can talk to the girls. Luce, you want a turkey sandwich?”

How sweet was that? Her dad remembered her obsession with turkey sandwiches.

“Yes, thanks.”

“That sounds good,” Ro added. “Make it two.”

Ten minutes into the meal, Joey's giant head appeared outside the window. He poked his index finger into the glass—
tap-tap-tap
—pointing at Lucie.